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[mdilip948]

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[vlccinstitutehsrlayout2]

No.1 Best Spa Therapy Courses in Bangalore at VLCC Institute

What is a spa therapist?

Spa therapy courses in Bangalore at VLCC appearance and reduce their stress levels or improve your general well-being. Before beginning any treatment, therapists talk with their clients to understand their needs and expectations and to complete a health questionnaire with them. They can also produce an individual treatment plan.

Many spa therapists work as a team with other specialists to create a treatment plan for individual clients. During treatments, therapists ensure that their clients are informed and comfortable at all times. After the treatments, they discuss aftercare and suggest suitable spa products.

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Why choose Spa Therapy as a career?

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Students can learn how to perform these treatments safely and effectively, as well as gain an understanding of anatomy and physiology. With the help of experienced instructors, students can also develop their own unique style of providing spa services.

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The Spa and Wellness sector is experiencing a period of unprecedented growth, so if you are considering a career in this sector, you will not look back! The continued boom in the development of hotels, urban spas, and salons in major cities has brought with it a renewed demand for skilled spa professionals.

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[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.   

And Steve Harrington was old, old money. 

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured. 

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you. 

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more. 

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask. 

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.  

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each. 

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them. 

In cash, of course. 

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring. 

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands. 

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave. 

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him. 

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.  

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends. 

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before. 

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week. 

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes. 

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.  

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift. 

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away. 

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had. 

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington. 

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth. 

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink. 

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming. 

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget. 

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter. 

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves. 

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you. 

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner. 

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring. 

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression. 

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug. 

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices. 

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach. 

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard. 

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling. 

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.” 

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier. 

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them. 

You’d seen it all.  

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight. 

It didn’t. 

You sat down. 

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months. 

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. 

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak. 

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here. 

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public. 

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand. 

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon. 

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over. 

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring. 

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job. 

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass. 

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control. 

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice. 

“No, thank you,” you murmured. 

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either. 

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy. 

Monaco. France. Spain. 

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want. 

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this. 

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised. 

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering. 

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go. 

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.” 

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it. 

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned. 

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone. 

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington. 

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners. 

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand. 

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used. 

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone. 

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia. 

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday. 

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country. 

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see. 

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich. 

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water. 

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco. 

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.  

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you. 

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green. 

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed. 

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb. 

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t. 

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled. 

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming. 

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had. 

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to. 

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.  

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it. 

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing. 

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again. 

You got in the cart. 

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake. 

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered. 

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really. 

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead. 

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk. 

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up. 

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in. 

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin. 

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit. 

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected. 

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered. 

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

 Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock. 

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento. 

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too. 

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like. 

Pointless. 

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk. 

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer. 

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.” 

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington. 

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth. 

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to. 

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat. 

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good. 

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other. 

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began. 

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand. 

A Macallan, no ice. 

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner. 

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings. 

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes. 

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve. 

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt. 

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed. 

Home time. Maybe. 

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to. 

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding. 

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready. 

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit. 

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf. 

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse. 

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book. 

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway. 

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first. 

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak. 

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion. 

“Drink?” Steve asked. 

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you. 

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid. 

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet. 

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with. 

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his. 

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp. 

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold. 

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you. 

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss. 

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet. 

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge  of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter. 

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed. 

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip. 

It was obscene. 

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked. 

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken. 

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more. 

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight? 

You. 

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights. 

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed. 

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers. 

A silent, ‘give them to me.’ 

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you. 

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?” 

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.  

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch. 

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted. 

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful. 

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry. 

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out. 

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.  

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out. 

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered. 

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard. 

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you. 

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear. 

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down. 

PART TWO

[amarmoria]

Sempiternal 1

⊹ ⭑.ᐟ Yao x Reader ⊹ ࣪˖ᝰ.ᐟ

Synopsis: 10 days in some spa center with your family wouldn't be too bad right...?

Notes: no bcz why doesn't he have fanfics bombarding everywhere?

Next

Wc: 1k

"... right guys?"

Your thoughts were stolen away when your dad snaps his fingers, smiling expectantly between you and your sister.

"Yes, uh, I'm, I'm excited, dad" you try and smile, but it looked like you were pushing a big fat shit so you bit your tongue and focused outside the window. You've already been driving for hours without end, only stopping when you needed to go or when you were hungry, and your phone was no use since the signal was slowly fading away due to how far this thing was.

It sounded so absurd when you first heard about it, a retreat in the middle of nowhere? You would've pretended to be happy if only it were your parents who were gonna go, but they successfully convinced your sister, who also succeeded in convincing you.

So you're here awaiting the embarrassment to process in your brain, you haven't had the time to react because a few hours after you agreed to go, they already had your closet packed for the retreat. Your sister looks half as miserable as you, she told you she wanted to try, for Zach, she says he'd want you to be happy, to heal, but how can you when he just, pow, gone?

"Here we aree" Your dad exclaims, parking the car at the center of the covered driveway.

Your mouth forms a small o as you exit the car, the place was big, like it doesn't even look like a mental institution, but you guess it's what they make it so, so the patients wouldn't freak out about being sent to a crazies hospital, if this was any other circumstance you'd think it's a five star hotel.

The front, or whatever the parking box they have with receptions, was filled with homely looking staff— and homely looking plants, which you assume were fake. Your eyes drop to the woman in front of you, holding out her hand. You suppose she's already been talking to you, but you were too busy gawking at the place, the thought makes you red in embarrassment.

You frown and tilt your head, fiddling with the hem of your top.

"Hi, uh, what is..?"

"Your phone miss Marconi?"

"My, my phone? Uh, why would you guys need it?"

"It's a part of the protocols here little miss" She smiles warmly, the noon sun dancing around her curls. Fuck, the protocols, of course it is, you've read some of it from their website, ugh how can you forget, your purposefully embarassing yourself now.

"Oh okay, uh," you gulped and searched around your bag, it took a few seconds before you finally found it, the battery was already blinking red so what choice do you have.

You hesitantly placed the phone on her hand when she smiles, gesturing you to walk up to the steep road ahead.

"Don't get nervous now alrighty? We promise to do our best during your stay here."

"Thank you, uh.."

"Oh! It's Delilah"

"Thank you, Delilah"

🌻

Your dad strolled around the garden happily as usual when Delilah led your family uphill, the building was big, like big big, it looked like a vacation house, with the pool and the open 1st floor, you were grateful for the short moment of peace in admiring the place before they lock you in your cells, your no idiot, you know the whole honey vibe of the place was just a facade compared to the mucky, dark, and real building they'll throw you in when you get comfortable.

You can't help but worry for your parents who believed this was the real deal, what gruesome tortures would they have you do once you settle in, do they whip you for being naughty, or dunk your head in the water if you don't answer properly, and oh would they feed you disgusting year old porridge they probably spat on. You don't trust these kinds of organizations.

"Oh and there's a pool too girls! cool huh?"

You smile gently and nod, you didn't feel like saying anything negative today, you didn't want to upset your dad, he looks so happy about being here you wouldn't want to break it.

"The place is pretty big huh, I wonder what the real price was" Zoe says, casually stuffing her hand in her pockets. "Yeah.."

You were too busy gawking, again, when you bump into a wall wearing a... Beige top.

"Oh! I, uh, I'm really sorry, I didn't," you pause, saying you were openly gawking at the place instead of focusing what was in front of you sounded childish— it is what a child would do, you sheepishly bit the inside of your cheek, fiddling with the hem of your top once again.

"I, I wasn't paying attention, I'm sorry, really—" you stop when you hear a chuckle, the timbre of his voice shaking you, it was deeper than what your used to, I mean, you've always been around your dad who has a lighter voice, maybe it's from being a dad that he's used to using a friendlier tone with kids.

"Nervous are you?"

You visibly heat up, you thought you'd already bit you tongue off by the way your teeth were clenched.

"I, I'm not.."

"I'm joking with you" he chuckles. "I'm Yao, and I'll be one of the staff assisting you and your family during the experience."

"Hey," your mom waves to you direction, you catch the eye of the lady with sunglasses when she shoots you a smile, which you return, though your mom quickly grabs your hand pulls you slong with her inside the house.

"Heather's a mean bitch huh?" You could barely hear the lady when she whispers to the staff— Yao, if you could recall.

"Don't talk to strangers like that"

"What? I didn't, I was—"

"Just be careful hon, ok?"

"Yes mom," you scratch your head, turning your head behind you to see the lady and Yao conversing while she drinks her smoothie, you look down to your hand and frown when you notice your own drink in your palms, your holding it, since when did you have a drink? Were you too distracted you didn't even notice you had one?

[mandalhoerian]

NO TIME TO DIE | leon kennedy x oc | 10

pairing: leon s. kennedy x oc word count: 12K~ warnings: COCKROACHES. gunshot wound. blood summary: A lie never lives to be old. author's note: bit anticlimactic, this one. i hope you enjoy anyways!

READ ON AO3 ! ☆ NO TIME TO DIE MASTERPOST

The headless chicken they were after Ada's disappearance, it took the duo a while to map out the T-junction, and the process was made even worse by talking each other's heads off, mainly because Leon acted like a little boy who lost his mom in a mall, and kept calling out for Ada's name while jogging around mindlessly, hoping his shouts would bring her back home, or whatever the fuck.

Of course he didn't understand Ada hadn't strayed off. She had left. Without a word of goodbye, no mention of anything to them beforehand, simply gone in a flash, vanished out of thin air. No different from how she waltzed into their lives in the first place.

Surprisingly, Vera reacted to it how she would to being ditched at a night's out with the girls, instead of losing her fucking shit like Leon. The problem was probably her in this case for her lack of reaction. But what was she supposed to freak out about, exactly? A woman wanting to go her own way? Which was understandable? Was it concerning? Well, maybe if she was a normal person instead of a professional, but this was also an extenuating circumstance, and Vera really couldn't care less about Ada's intentions or reasons as long as it didn't affect them, and it didn't seem to be.

Emphasis on seem.

It was definitely affecting Leon.

One would think she had been abducted right in front of him, and Vera definitely had become fucked up in the head after everything, because she wanted to laugh in his poor face. Ada was absolutely fine. She would go unscathed from this, with the FBI gifting her a spa visit in Cabo after her success. Vera on the other hand needed at least a year of therapy, or maybe a decade in a mental institution to recover from the trauma.

"What the hell. Where could she have possibly gone? It doesn't make any sense." He complained loudly, voice bouncing off the walls, echoing in the empty space, the same question he had repeated like a parrot at least five times. "Ada!"

Yeah, okay, Vera had enough.

"Okay, hold up, will you?" She yanked his arm backwards, causing him to stumble to a stop and turn around, eyes wide open in surprise, flitting to her hand holding onto him, then back to her face, the slightest twinge of red dusting on his cheekbones. "Are you trying to call out all the undead to our location? Because it's working, and there's going to be a zombie stampede headed this way at this point. You see that elevator shaft?" Still holding onto his elbow, she pointed to what she was talking about with her free hand. "They'll be raining down from there."

He stared at her with an incredulous expression on his face, mouth opening and closing, until his shoulders slumped, sighing in resignation. "Sorry. You're right, I just—"

"You're worried. I know." Vera let go of him, and crossed her arms behind her back, standing straight and rolling on her heels, shrugging nonchalantly, plastering a grin on her face to dispel any tension lingering. It was tempting to double down on him by pointing out that calling out for her in that hypothetical scenario was equal to a baby bird in a nest screaming for his hunting mother with a mouth awaiting food. "But it's an FBI agent we're talking about, she can hold her own."

His gaze was trained on her for a few seconds before shifting away, looking everywhere but her. A companionable , short silence settled over them after that, save for the occasional buzz of the air conditioning system powering the generators scattered throughout the complex and Leon's intermittent huffing. "Yeah, but... It doesn't sit well with me when it comes to abandoning people who might need help..."

Leon was... legitimately ashamed, hunched slightly forward, brows drawn together, the puppy dog look he always seemed to unintentionally sport when upset. He was going to be the death of her. "Trust me, she doesn't need our help," she replied, flinging her arms out with a dramatic flourish. "You're not abandoning her, just getting out of her hair. She left for a reason, Leon."

A snort of amusement. One he let out with zero conviction. "Sure."

Vera chewed on her bottom lip, digging the toe of her boots into the ground in a timid manner. Did he have to sound this sullen? She didn't know how to handle these kinds of situations. Emotional shit wasn't really her forte, not unless she was in the same position. And she was never good with words — and still wasn't, after being supported so much by him.

It was awkward. Vera wanted to give Leon a pat on the shoulder or something, but that was crossing the line and would make everything even more weird. "Listen. You know who truly needs your help? Sherry. And even Claire. We have each other, but she's on her own out there. They're our priority."

Leon inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, raising his head up and locking eyes with hers. The sheer intensity of his stare, the storm brewing beneath, was almost intimidating, she would be burned by his gaze. His voice was firm, resolved. "You're right. Let's get going."

"Lead the way, officer."

This was the Leon that was worth the hype, Vera decided. Leon when he was in the zone, focused, driven by duty and morals, doing what he thought was the right thing, no matter what, ready to face whatever challenge lay ahead with confidence and assurance. It was something to admire, especially when he wasn't the type of man who showed off.

"You wanna find out where that pipe leads to?" Leon asked, tilting his head in its direction and pointing a finger.

As they drew closer to the destination, the distant sound of machinery powering on, buzzing and grinding in tandem echoed off the walls, followed by a distinctive squeak of rusty metals that was definitely leaking in from the giant ventilation tunnel Leon was talking about. Leading up to it was a single metal ladder hanging off the ledge, offering the duo a chance to climb up to investigate further, and this time, there was no dilemma - Leon hopped onto the rungs, testing each one individually to ensure they wouldn't buckle, and Vera waited for her turn, bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

That was before it was revealed that a horde of cockroaches was waiting for them up there.

"Ah, Jesus!" She swore, stumbling back at the sight. Leon joined in too, also cursing.

One of the insects chose that moment to crawl on her boot, and she kicked it away with a panicked yelp. There might or might not have been an embarrassing scream that put Leon's Ada-call to shame. "Fucking shit, ughhh, whyyyy," Vera complained loudly, face scrunching up as she covered her nose with her elbow. She could cry. She could fucking cry.

"Well, at least they're not zombies," Leon quipped.

Oh, shut the fuck up.

Vera didn't dare breathe through her nose, afraid she would puke at the overwhelming smell of ammonia and alcohol, which were mixed with an acrid, coppery scent that caused bile to rise up to her throat, burning the insides. If one cockroach touched her, she was going to lose it. The tunnel was filled with at least a hundred of them, and they were either scuttling around the floor or clinging to the sides, creeping out from underneath the cracks. One of them could fucking fall on her hair and she would legitimately pass out.

It was the worst sight she could imagine, the very embodiment of nightmare fuel. It didn't take much imagination for her mind to conjure up images of a dozen cockroaches crawling up her limbs and inside her mouth and ears, which she quickly tried to shake off physically as she whined, shaking both her hands around after having to put away her Samurai Edge so she wouldn't accidentally fire away in her panic. "Oh, sweet hells. Ughhhh, okay, okay, okay. Alright. Let's just run. Let's run to the end. I'm literally one step away from having a fucking seizure."

Leon cocked his head to the side, not at all affected by this whole ordeal. How did he not break a sweat? Vera wanted to push him into a bed of roaches, see how he'd fare.

He was about to say something, probably make a joke that was funnier in his head, but she didn't stay for that, sprinting straight down the path with the biggest leap of faith she had taken since ever, ignoring Leon's startled shout from behind as she dashed past the critters as fast as she could, not stopping to gag at the crunching sound below her feet.

At this point, her disgust of a concert hall of cockroaches trumped the fear of dying and turning into one of those things. At least if she got attacked and turned, she wouldn't have to experience the torture of having them chew at her flesh.

How she made it to the end, Vera didn't know, but her heart was hammering against her rib cage, lungs on the verge of collapse, she was probably yelling all the way there too to expel all the revulsion inside her too. The aftermath of that little marathon was practically the day after a major workout session, except, with more horror involved. She wasn't even paying attention to her surroundings after jumping down to safety without checking for a ladder to climb down or whatsoever, too busy catching her breath as she hunched over with her hands on her knees. And when that was done, pacing around in circles while shaking her arms was next, and it wasn't long until Leon came into view and she latched onto both his arms like a koala, the jitters making her jump up and down.

"I hate bugs. I hate bugs so much. Ugh. Ughhhhhhh! Eww. Ughh!" She rambled, feeling him tense under her touch, his body going rigid. Rubbing her fingernails up and down the outside of his arms was doing wonders in getting rid of the crawling feeling. "I'd rather fight ten zombies at once than deal with those."

Vera could almost swear she heard the smile in his voice. "We'll stick to that then, alright?"

When she pulled back, a tiny smirk adorned his features, despite the tiniest bit of red in his face from what was probably having to run after her. She nodded, still scratching the vest, the pace of it getting less aggressive. "That would be awesome. Just round them all up and feed them to each other. Should be easy."

The laughter that escaped Leon's lips, this time, was genuine, and Vera was delighted to hear the sound — a bit husky, but boyish and infectious. He stepped back, gently prying her away from himself, and even though nothing about it was curt, Vera felt the heat spreading to her face, only now realizing she had basically cuddled him up and got away with it.

Her hands returned to her side like a whip. "S-sorry, I just..."

"It's fine," Leon reassured, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. "No offense, but that was definitely a sight to behold. Who knew you could run that fast?"

No witty retorts were made on Vera's part, at that moment, all she was capable of was an entertained huff, and a light slap with the back of her hand to his chest as she turned away, promptly coming face to face with an unconscious body of a man lying face down on the floor.

"Gghhk—! What the fuck!"

That made Leon actually laugh.

Creeping forward hesitantly, she nudged the body with the tip of her boots. "Was he here the whole time?"

"Guess so. Maybe he got caught off guard by those bugs and fainted, who knows?"

Vea clicked her tongue, groaning at him. One slip, and now she was the butt of all the jokes — Leon of all people was making fun of her. Great. "Yeah, yeah. Go on, get it out of your system."

Her curiosity was piqued by the small backpack the man was carrying with him, the item in question slung around his upper body. From her vantage point, she could only see it was packed with something, and she stepped to the side to crouch beside him and flip him over.

"Hey," Leon's tone was colored with concern, approaching Vera with caution and holding his shotgun tightly, readying himself in case this guy woke up in a bad mood and took it out on them. "Careful there."

Vera leaned in, bending her head to get a better look. "Look at all that ammo. This is good stuff, what the heck is he doing with all this?" She whistled in approval. From the jumpsuit and the location, this was a sanitation worker, likely abandoned in his duties when shit hit the fan and then spent his time hiding. She took it upon herself to salvage as many useful items as she could, she opened his pack to gather up his findings — namely, the shotgun shells and 9mm bullets, painkillers, a half empty box of magnum ammo, and a pouch with some emergency gauze. Vera immediately started gobbling up one of the bars of candy from the bag, grabbing a bottle of water to wash it down with as she emptied the contents into her pockets, letting Leon take the rest.

The last object to be found was a photo, crumbled from being inside the pocket of his pants, but with some effort, she flattened it and flipped it over to examine the contents.

A family in the picture, on vacation by the looks of it, beaming at the camera. Two children stood in front, the oldest appeared to be in her pre-teens, with long dark brown hair and a sly smile that could rival Vera's. She was wrapped around the waist by her younger brother, a little boy with a huge gap between his front teeth and messy auburn hair. He was flashing a peace sign to the camera with the most mischievous expression she had ever seen, and the image of a perfect family unit was completed by the father himself, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth as he grinned down at the two kids.

Vera gave nothing away as she also took that photo, and put it away in a secure pocket in her backpack. Her brain was clean of any thoughts as she did it, driven only by a twinge of breathless longing, a fleeting desire to preserve, as if this was her vacation and the kids in the picture were her siblings.

Leon didn't say anything about it, observing her movements but not questioning them. Vera didn't owe him an explanation — she didn't have one in the first place.

With that done, they moved on, the lack of undead on their path having created a false sense of security that crashed and burned the moment they opened the next door in the form of multiple guttural groans and the signature moaning, along with shuffling feet.

Peeking through the narrow slit of the gap, both Vera and Leon could barely make out the forms of the creatures staggering around, and Leon raised his finger to his lips, signaling her to get back and retreat. They closed the door silently, communicating solely via eye contact and hand motions to form a plan.

A nod.

Leon was going to lure them and show the way with his flashlight.

Another nod.

Vera was going to shoot. No need to waste any shotgun ammo. Aim for the knees and then go for the head.

Third nod.

Leon slid his fingers in through the crack and counted down. Three. Two. One.

Container room. This was a container room.

The fluorescent lights weren't working above as she spun in circles, surveying the area. Stacks of pallets, forklifts, metal boxes and other heavy equipment she was too unfamiliar with in the corners of an endless maze of containers, with a few elevated walkways, but that was about it. She also took note of the random objects that stuck out: a couple of crates to their far left, some yellow barrels that definitely should not be lit on fire, especially not in close quarters. In any other circumstances, she would be very fascinated, wanting to pull apart the machines and test the functions, but that was not the time for any of that. They didn't have the time for that, to begin with.

An upstairs of some sort ended up to be the only way out of this, neither of them thought it was worth it to explore the nooks and crannies, the presence of half a dozen undead was proof enough they would waste their time looking for just another dead end.

After that, it was relatively quiet for a while as they progressed onwards through a passage with a glass window, leading to an area with a busted, giant ventilation fan with enough space between the blades for a grown person to squeeze through, and surely enough, she could see a path to something down there.

Propping the butt of his gun on the fan's lower blade, treating it as a railing, "You think Ada went this way?" Leon mused.

"It's between the locked door down the other way and this. Or a secret third thing," Vera added, peering into the darkness that swallowed up everything in view, eyes trying to adjust to the lack of light. It was pretty dark inside, and there seemed to be nothing but more vent tubes leading into tunnels. It smelled less sewer and more industrial exhaust in here, a burnt odor filling her nostrils and irritating her senses.

"I don't know..."

"Doesn't hurt to try." Vera shrugged, turning back to look at him with a grin. "Just go ahead, I'm right behind you."

"Alright," Leon mumbled, kicking off the fan to hop over it, landing on the platform below gracefully, without missing a beat. Distracted by watching him, she bumped her head to the blade above, causing her to flinch and step back, rubbing the sore spot on her forehead.

"You okay?"

"Yup, just a tiny bonk."

"I can catch you if you're scared."

He was getting comfortable with the banter. If it was another man with a more inflated macho ego, he would be accused of trying to flirt, but Leon was too innocent for that, and she wanted him to be able to throw barbs at her so she could counteract and return it in kind.

"Nope, my childhood self would love this," Vera continued, smiling and tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear. "We're practically in a giant bat cave. That basically stinks." The final line was muttered as an afterthought.

He looked over his shoulder, obviously confused with how he should react, the slightest twitch of his lips made it hard to determine if he was amused or disturbed. "Didn't you just complain about the cockroaches? Now you want to add bats to the list?"

"I'm really going to literally jump you if you keep going on with that," she grumbled, not in the mood to get into that topic. Her grip on the steel tightened as she pushed herself up, throwing herself over the gap, and there was a split second of weightlessness, where the adrenaline rushed and her stomach dropped to the ground as her legs flailed in the air. Then she landed, kneeling down with a grunt, and the impact reverberated all the way up to her thighs.

A hand was held out in her peripheral vision, and she glanced up to see Leon hovering above her, and Vera almost wanted to slap it, but took it anyway, letting him help her up. She made sure to get in his face by tugging his arm downwards to her height, smirking, enjoying how flustered he was getting. It was the ephemeral joys of messing with Leon that she wanted to milk out for as long as possible.

It got interrupted by a woman's voice trickling in from afar, the echo reaching them as fleeting whispers. Leon's head shot up, and Vera whipped around, her entire frame rigid from the shock.

The voice sounded like Ada's, and she couldn't make out what the exact words were, but she could tell for certain, the FBI agent was somewhere nearby.

However, Annette's answer was much clearer as she answered, "You'll never get your filthy hands on G."

Leon let go of her to whirl around, and the movement brought Vera out of her daze as she refocused, watching as he brought a finger to his lips in a signal to be quiet, and motioned towards a pathway, and Vera nodded, following his lead.

They climbed up a rusty metallic stairwell and sneaked up to the source of the voices, hiding behind the side of the container like it was a wall, the shadowy silhouette of Annette Birkin visible at the far end, standing before what looked to be a closed garage door with yellow tape on the ground framing the entrance, warning any personnel to keep out.

And too fixated on Ada who had to be behind the door and inside that metal container, Annete wasn't paying attention to anything else, continuing with, "Then you won't die alone."

There wasn't even any time to take in a surprised breath before a buzzer rang out, and a rectangle of flickering orange lit up Annette's face, accompanied by a mechanical whirl from within the sealed door, the grinding of gears as the mechanism inside the container powered on.

It dawned on Vera as Annette started walking away, her heels clicking with purpose.

"You locked her in an incinerator!" Leon exclaimed, anger coloring his tone as he stepped forward and revealed himself, triggering Annette's flight response.

"Shit!" She followed, forcing herself to get out of her stunned state by bolting into action and bringing the Samurai Edge up, aiming at the middle of her back and firing once. It wasn't intended to kill her, Vera just wanted to get her to stop, or at least delay her escape.

She missed on purpose, the bullet hitting the sliding door the woman opened with a bracelet around her wrist, and her yell of alarm pierced the air. She didn't turn around to try confronting the two, managing to slip away as Leon slammed into the door, rattling the entire thing in the frame.

"Goddamn it!" He groaned, pounding a fist against it.

Out of instinct, "Upstairs!" Vera yelled to inform Leon, not stopping to discuss with him as she flew past and headed up the stairs right across the incinerator, finding a single lever among the different types of controls, buttons and switches. It was surrounded by electrical cables and wires, with one end of it leading into the floor, and she grasped onto the handle, pulling it down, and a low rumble resonated from the mechanism, a generator powering down, and the faint glow of the flames streaming through the metal blinds dimmed out.

"Did it work!" Vera called out, panting as she ran back to the door to see if it worked. It wasn't open yet, and Leon had resorted to opening the rectangle latch on eye level to peer into the room, knocking on the barrier to get her attention.

"Ada!" He yelled, tapping on the door rapidly with a flat palm.

"I'm fine!" Ada responded, voice muffled as it seeped out from the crack, but clear and loud, meaning she was in good condition. "Just get this damn thing open."

Relief instantly made her a thousand times lighter, she could fly away, and Vera released a shaky exhale, her shoulders dropping.

"Give us a second."

Vera knew exactly what to do, turning on her heel to jog back up to the control panel she was working with just seconds ago, and pressed the button to her far left that turned on a green lamp to life. There was a button underneath it, and she lifted the cover to push it down, and the beeps from the keypad-like lock beside the switch could be heard as she did so. Another rumble, louder and more violent, followed suit as the door's status changed, and the blinking of red changed to white, the humming of the motors increasing in volume to a high pitched whirr.

"It worked!" Leon confirmed, and Vera bounded down the steps, breathless from ricocheting back and forth downstairs and upstairs in such a short amount of time, coming to a stop to wait for the door to open. She bounced on the balls of her feet, licking her lips to get rid of the dryness in her mouth and wiping her sweaty palms on her black jean shorts. The hot wind blew in her direction, blowing strands of hair across her face and exposing her neck, the distinct smell of burning plastic assaulting her senses.

It was a bit longer than she anticipated, with the metal doors finally giving in to gravity's pull to reveal a clean hallway, no signs of fire or smoke at all, and then there was Ada, looking disheveled with her bangs sticking to her damp face, and soot all over her trench coat, but she was alive, unhurt, and most importantly, breathing.

Vera didn't realize how nervous she was until Ada emerged, the second wave of relief flooding over her senses, a rush of warm liquid, making her boneless as she watched the older woman stumble out with Leon's supporting hand on her back.

She couldn't hold back the sigh escaping her, running her hands up to her hair and pushing it back, the black curtain parting to reveal she was flushed all the way to her hairline as she walked over to her, a giddy, light sensation in her stomach, a bubble of happiness she was afraid to pop, afraid it was all just a dream she would wake up from at any moment.

"Want some water?" She blurted out, and her words were a bit breathy from the adrenaline in her veins.

"Don't mind if I do," Ada replied, raising her chin to accept the offer. Vera shoved her hand inside the backpack to get out the bottle, uncapping it with practiced ease with one hand.

Before she could do so much as get it to her face, Ada grabbed her hand, taking a generous swig, the angle allowing for droplets to trickle down her jaw and soak the collar of her shirt. Her gaze met Vera's as she drank, and Vera, for some reason, felt her heart drop all the way to the floor, freezing in place, a deer in headlights.

The first few drops of water trickled out the corners of her mouth, dripping onto the smooth column of her neck, disappearing behind the scarf around it. Ada withdrew to release an exaggerated gasp for breath, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "Much appreciated," she said, passing it back, the lingering warmth on the plastic ghosting across Vera's skin like a caress.

Vera's cheeks grew hot, her mouth parting slightly to collect some oxygen to her brain, the upturn of her lips weak, wavering as she forced herself to be calm and collected. "Yeah—you're welcome."

The reply was delayed, her attention divided between her inner struggle and Ada, and the woman in question herself smirked, knowing she caught the effect of her actions on Vera as she brushed past to join Leon, who was staring at them with what he thought was discreet observation.

"Good to see you in one piece," he remarked, sounding friendly and casual, as if they didn't just bust her out of an incinerator.

"It takes more than that to bring me down."

"Speaking of," Leon started, folding his arms over his chest. "What the hell was that? Why would she—"

Ada didn't give him time to finish as she cut him off, stating firmly, "Umbrella doesn’t want anything getting out. Not the truth, not what they do, and definitely not what they make."

"Sherry's mom works for Umbrella?"

It wasn't the lengths Umbrella would go to that surprised Leon, not even the fact that Ada had almost died for it, Vera concluded. Leon had to have already witnessed similar things or worse during the course of the night, to not be shaken up by all of it. His speechlessness stemmed from Annette's connection to Umbrella. And what an idiot Vera was not to anticipate this reaction. It was a mistake, Vera felt the coldness spreading as if her blood froze, ice crystals growing in her veins, creeping to the ends of her nerves.

W.B. is William Birkin, she remembered blurting out. With no evidence whatsoever, a statement thrown in the wild she expected Leon would eat up, and accept it as her randomly connecting the dots out of the blue, his brain doing the rest of the work by itself.

"Exactly," Ada confirmed, not taking her eyes off him, but Leon's entire attention was on surveying Vera's reaction as she sweated under his stare, refusing to meet his gaze and feeling it bore into the top of her skull. "Umbrella's top research scientist along with her husband, William Birkin, who's also responsible for all this. The G-Virus."

Leon remained silent, the suspicion that was bubbling under the surface he didn’t bother hiding leaking out. She could almost hear the gears turning in his head, processing the information, chewing over it, mulling over what was presented and drawing conclusions for himself. All the while staring directly into her soul, and Vera almost cracked. Almost.

It was when the silence turned unbearable that Leon spoke up, his voice gruff, "We better get moving, then." He broke his gaze and turned to the other woman, leaving Vera to breathe, the coldness dissipating in a wave of heat.

Vera was a bug under a microscope.

He knew something was wrong and that she was privy to it. He had already begun distancing himself, putting a thin wall between them that would grow thicker and thicker, the more he found out. And what was more was that Vera was aware he had caught on she knew more than she led on. He hadn't figured it out completely, but he was closing in.

"I'm telling you two again, you should get out of here." Ada repeated, for the umpteenth time, but the only response she was graced with was Leon shrugging, nonchalant and unaffected by her concern, and Vera shooting her a glance. "You have your answers. Forget about Raccoon City. Forget about the Birkin girl. Go back where you came from, and never look back."

The authority and conviction in Ada's tone made the hairs on Vera's back stand, and her spine straightened, a shudder raking up her body, goosebumps exploding on her skin, every muscle tense, every fiber of her being screaming in protest, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows.

Leon gave no indication that he agreed with her. "Not a chance. We can't abandon that little girl to deal with all this on her own."

"Then, the moment you find her, we go our separate ways," Ada announced, cold, unrelenting. "I've risked enough as it is, and so have you."

His silence was damning. Vera wasn't stupid, she knew why. Her stomach sank and she felt hollow inside, the emptiness gnawing at her guts, the walls of this maze caving in on her as Leon faced the road ahead and walked with Ada by his side, the two of them moving together seamlessly, no hesitation, no falter in their steps.

So Vera trailed after the two, but in that moment, she knew that this was it.

The candle she was holding had finally reached its end, and all that was left of it was the wax.

Ada now had a similar bracelet to Annette's, the door Leon had previously slammed into opened with a beep, a digitalized sound that echoed in the large, open hall, the corridor extending in front of them.

"Visitor clearance confirmed. Your ID is authorized until October First. Please return before this date."

The concrete was crumbling and falling apart, revealing the pipes beneath and the wires peeking out from the holes in the structure, with the familiar green, artificial glow, the lights from the ceiling providing the main illumination to the hall.

This entire area was humid, and she could feel the condensation on her face. Not only that, but they heard the sounds of water flowing from ahead, a river coursing through the halls, and Vera could swear she felt the vibration of it from the ground under her feet. The sheer size of this underground labyrinth was a testament to just how big this place was, and she couldn't help but wonder, how far had they dug this place to have it built this expansive? How much resources and time had Umbrella poured into this operation that the city above was going to shit and people were dying on the streets and this laboratory was thriving and expanding with each passing day?

The answer was obvious. People's lives didn't matter to these corporations, there were thousands of nameless, faceless numbers whose death wouldn't affect the bottom line of the company. She had done the math before. All those disappeared kids. All those missing families that didn't exist and would never be found because Umbrella made them disappear, and then would turn around and play hero, use their money to save the children that mattered, and then whisk them away to create even more subjects, and it was an endless cycle.

That was the point. That was how it all worked. It was a miracle she was freed from that system, if it wasn't for her father, she would be right where she had been born, taken out once in a while to be injected with new experimental serums to find out their effects on a child, and then sent back to her cage. And then disposed of, once her body gave up, used up by the age of ten.

She felt low for not telling the truth to Leon and Claire, but all of this... It was too much—

Bang!

"Ada, watch out!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Her eyes snapped open from the train of thought, and Leon had been the first to react, tackling Ada to the ground from the bullets fired, saving her from death yet again. She could see the metal rain pelting the concrete wall, spraying debris everywhere and kicking up a cloud of dust.

Vera stayed glued to the wall swerving into the corridor the gunshots were coming from, while Leon and Ada were still lying on the floor across from her to the opposite wall, and Ada hissed from being crushed underneath him, struggling to push him off.

It stopped as abruptly as it started, Annette's voice ringing out, "This is my final warning. Next time, it will be a bullet to the head!"

Then with a beep and a mechanical click, she was gone.

Leon rolled to his side with a pained groan, and Vera saw red—

She was in front of him in an instant, leaning over to pull his upper body upwards, the man yelping from the sudden movement, clutching his left shoulder and gritting his teeth.

"Is this the part where you yell at me for being reckless?" He asked, in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

She would have laughed in any other circumstances, but no. "Go!" She whipped around to face Ada, who was already propped up on her elbows, watching with a mixture of emotions. Vera tried her hardest to hide her shaking. "Don't let her get away!"

Ada was stunned at first, but Vera saw her eyes harden, the fire dancing in the brown irises as she got up with a grunt. She didn't go the way Annette did, moving instead to a separate direction, disappearing from their view as she slipped through a fire exit door, and Leon tried to push himself to sit upright, only for her to push him back down, making him lie down on the cold ground.

"Don't fucking move," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for arguments, but there wasn't any malice or hate in it, no disdain for his recklessness or that he almost got himself killed for Ada, just the ice cold of dread that pooled deep in her stomach.

This was the second goddamn time.

Him crumpling to the ground as Irons shot him square in the chest in that parking garage was playing in her head over and over again, it didn't matter he had a bulletproof vest on, in Vera's mind, he'd died on the spot. Shell-shock had smoothed her brain for any logical reasoning, blood visible or not. Irons was there. Irons had shot Leon. Irons had killed him. It was enough for her to shut down.

She couldn't believe this was even worse than then.

Blood was soaking through the uniform and his fingers, staining her hands as she pried it off the wound, a part of it sticking to the moist skin, the edges of the torn fabric glued to his flesh. Red was blooming on the stained, gray concrete, and the liquid was seeping through the cracks. There was an exit wound. The bullet had pierced through. She just didn't know what. Just the meat of his clavicle? Did it shatter the bone?

It could be just the deltoid, maybe, she was grasping onto hope.

God, there was so fucking much in the way, the short-sleeved uniform, the undershirt, the vest—

Her hands were slick, her fingertips slipping against the saturated fabric, trembling too violently to untangle the straps of the Kevlar and unzip the vest to open it. "Leon," she whined, voice shaking, her head swimming from the stress. She was panicking, she knew it, the tears were burning in her eyes, her vision becoming blurry. "Leon, I need you to sit."

"You just said not to move—"

"Fucking sit up!" She shouted, finally succeeding in removing the vest, pulling it over his head and discarding it on the floor beside them, hearing the metallic clink of the shotgun shells and spare mags on the hard floor. She immediately felt like the shit that felt just at home in these sewers, biting down on her lip, swallowing thickly and blinking the mist away. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so, so sorry."

Gritting through clenched teeth, she didn't wait for his reaction before wrapping her arms around his torso to lift him up to a sitting position, his groans of discomfort ringing in her ears. Nausea washed over her as she heard the squelching sound of the hole in his shoulder shifting, the muscle fibers stretching, and his blood flowed freely down the curve of his pectoral and abdomen, spilling onto the ground, turning the patch of gray a dark red.

"Jesus—" Leon breathed, gulping down to calm down, adjusting to the pain and the change of positions. His eyelids fluttered, shutting and opening repeatedly, the muscles around his eyes flexed, creating tiny folds on top of the ridge above his nose. "M'okay."

He had to be on the brink of passing out from the sheer shock, his breathing was shallow, and his face had drained of color, which was frightening, given how pale Leon was naturally. Vera focused on relocating him to lean his back against the wall and out of the puddle of blood he'd formed on the floor.

He was really trying, though, huffing as he shuffled around with her help, his feet sliding in the slicks as she pushed him back to rest on the vertical surface. "Easy, easy," he cooed, reassuring her, although it was also probably directed to himself. He winced when his back touched the wall, unable to contain the grimace of pain that followed, breathing out from his mouth.

"Oh my god, oh fucking hell, I'm sorry!" She wailed, feeling horrible she put him through it all, wanting to help him with whatever she could do to make sure the pain would go away. "Okay, okay, okay... Listen, I need to..." Vera fumbled with her words, looking around frantically for anything useful, and remembering she had a backpack bursting with supplies, she ripped it off in a haste. "Uh, your sleeve. I gotta—"

She took out her pocket knife, and began sawing through the hemline, cutting and tearing the cotton until the both sleeves were separated from the rest of the outfit, throwing the severed pieces aside and leaving his entire left arm naked from the shoulder down.

Vera was a woman possessed, a wild animal crazed as she scrounged through her belongings, looking for... There! A packet of gauze pads, and a roll of medical tape, bandages, disinfectant, saline, she forgot everything in her panic, but she recalled that at some point, they looted first aid kits and stole all of it. She got out a tube of antibiotic ointment and set the items in a line next to her.

"Fuckfuckfuck..."

Everything felt so small, as if the world had shrunk around her and collapsed upon her, her own personal universe collapsing in itself and her along with it. The lights seemed brighter, the air thinner, and the smell was stronger than ever. Blood was running down Leon's arm in rivulets, pooling underneath and joining the larger puddle he was in a minute ago. It wasn't gushing, it wasn't spurting out, but it was dripping, a steady stream that didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime soon. The panic made her want to wipe all the blood away and get rid of the mess, but she had to focus on stopping the flow first.

Leon, bless him, was bearing with the pain admirably well, but Vera could see it wasn't the worst part — she could tell from the sweat gathering around his hairline and the beads rolling down his temple he was having a hard time. And she was about to make it tenfold. But she was beyond caring now, her whole life became focusing on making sure he pulled through and survived another day.

"Listen, I'm going to... I'm gonna have to disinfect this first. Front and back. It'll hurt like shit."

She was met with his half-lidded eyes, dull and fogged. He nodded once, understanding what he needed to do. "Do it," he ordered, straightening his spine against the wall, and his features hardened, steeling himself for the pain to come.

Leon kept his left arm extended and close to him, elbow resting on the knee of the leg bent vertically, allowing Vera space to do her thing. With one last deep breath, Vera tore open the package of the gauze pads to pull one out, soaked it in the disinfectant and brought it to the entrance wound, touching the broken, oozing skin.

"Okay," she whispered. "On the count of three. One, two—"

Leon inhaled sharply the moment she applied pressure, and she moved quickly to blot over the front first. He cried out, shouting hoarsely and in agony as she worked, not letting up once to give him time to adjust, dabbing over and over, feeling like an ass for putting him through so much. His forehead had fallen on her shoulder, his legs began to jerk involuntarily, and she fought the urge to sob.

It took much longer than she anticipated to finish, her heart hammering against her ribs with every anguished cry from Leon, her mind racing with scenarios where he would bleed to death, her palms were clammy and her fingers slippery but she managed to get through this stage.

"Almost done, baby. Almost done, Leon. Hang in there."

She told him sweet nothings to distract him from the pain, but they were for her peace of mind. Vera needed to reassure herself that Leon was still there and it was up to her to keep it that way. The process was draining, and she couldn't imagine the amount of suffering Leon had to endure.

The exit wound was much easier, the disinfectant not as agonizing, and Vera wasted no time in repeating the procedure.

She discarded the bloody gauze and put her entire weight onto him, her lower arms on the sides of his ribcage and the open wound. "Now the bad part, okay? It's okay, Leon, it's okay. You're doing so great."

Her right hand searched around for the saline, finding it near the first aid kit she had yet to touch, and she unscrewed the cap. The syringe came next and she carefully filled it, before tapping the outside to release any excess. Vera leaned in to inspect the entry hole of his shoulder, the blood gurgling up, and she pinched the edges.

Leon gasped when she stuck the syringe into the hole and released the liquid into his body, forcing it to clean out any dirt. He jerked wildly, his other hand holding onto her to brace himself, his entire being pulsing with life and fighting back with all he had, but Vera wouldn't budge, pressing herself deeper to the wound to prevent it from closing up.

Leon whimpered, almost screamed when she yanked out the syringe, and Vera held him close as he moaned and groaned and panted and squirmed, waiting for it to subside.

"That was it. It's over. It's all over now." She crooned, reaching to stroke his cheek, to grab a fistful of his hair to grip and tug on gently, and Leon raised his head, his chin hooked on her shoulder, but didn't open his eyes, eyebrows knit together from the immense strain he went through, and she stroked the bridge of his nose with the back of her fingers, cupping his jaw, careful to avoid his injury, brushing the pad of her thumb over his cheekbone. "Look at you... It's all over. You did so well, so good. That's it. Take a breather. I need to take care of that wound."

Withdrawing from her embrace, Leon was a wreck, and she could only imagine how awful he felt. She hurried to peel open the packet of bandages, ripping them off to throw them to the side and applying the adhesive plaster on the back to have it stick together. She held it in place over the exit wound, and motioned for him to bring up his right hand.

"Hold this, okay? Hold it there."

Vera got more gauze and opened the ointment, squeezing a dollop to the center of her palm, and smeared it across his entire front, and then back, ignoring his pained protests and wincing and jolting, running the heel of her hand across his trapezius and up to the back of his neck to apply more pressure, hoping it would alleviate some of the throbbing, the greasy, yellow fluid coating the wound, mixing with the blood that was drying on his skin, and Leon grunted from the pain, but Vera didn't let up, lathering more and more in hopes the medicine would take effect.

It was all done in a span of minutes, she threw the empty tubes aside and grabbed the gauze, unrolling it to wrap it around his upper body.

"Okay, just a bit more and I promise you can rest," she promised, using the sticky side of the bandage to attach to the layer in front, looping it under his arm, to his back and up over his shoulder, before bringing it to the front to continue her work. She wrapped the roll around a few times, holding the layers in place, and when she was satisfied, she cut it with her knife and secured it with the tape. "There. All done. How do you feel?"

Leon cracked his eyes open, and Vera wanted to laugh — the look he gave her was priceless. "Like someone took a nail and drilled my shoulder. How do you think I feel?"

His voice was dry and tired and rough and in pain, and she smiled, taking the last remaining gauze pad and soaking it in the saline, before she used it to clean him up, wiping away all the dried blood. "At least you're still sassing me. That's a good sign."

"You sure you didn't go to nursing school?"

She scoffed, finishing her last sweep to collect the scraps and throw them in a pile on the ground, the bloody fabrics and used plasters. "Far from it. That was all improvisation."

"Well, if there's an RPD after this, we gotta tell them you're worth a damn in an ER."

Vera could fall asleep on the spot with how relieved she felt, like she'd run a marathon and couldn't think of anything else other than sleeping. She slumped against the wall next to him, the rush of adrenaline wearing off, leaving her to bask in the aftermath.

Her heart was slowing down to normal, her blood pressure dropping back to regular levels and the erratic pulse calmed down to a more stable beat. She didn't know when the fingerless gloves on her hands had come off, but they were somewhere on the floor next to them, as was Leon's shirt and the vest, the other things they were carrying too, scattered around in a messy heap. The blood staining his front and his hands and her clothes made her skin itch and her nose scrunch, but they didn't have the luxury of privacy, much less time to get cleaned up.

Vera stared at the ceiling, the pipes that ran on it, the blinking fluorescent light, the rust on the screws that bolted it into the solid concrete.

The exhaustion hit her with a tidal wave, her muscles aching and her bones weak, a switch flicked, the colors of the world around her losing vibrancy and growing duller, and she could hardly keep her eyes open, the heaviness on her eyelids pushing her into unconsciousness.

She wasn't even the one who got shot, for fuck's sake.

Don't think, thinking slows you down, the voice of her father started in her mind.

Leon shifted next to her, and she turned her head, about to ask him if he was okay, when she saw him slip, his knees bending as the strength in his thighs disappeared, and she gasped, straightening her legs in a quick reflex to support him. He leaned over, the weight of his head falling on her shoulder, his right side pressed up against her left, directly against her burnt, bandaged upper arm, his cheek to her collarbone, and it made her exhale heavily to adjust to the additional weight, the sudden zap of white hot pain radiating down her arm and up her neck, and the muscle twitching involuntarily.

Vera was hyper-aware of his entire body, the smell of gunpowder, his breath, his hair tickling her throat, the moisture from his sweat cooling down and evaporating, and most importantly, focused on not to move despite her discomfort, as not to disturb him. She bit her lip and tried her hardest to not show it, as not to make it seem he was unwanted, when nothing could be farther from the truth. Leon needed his rest, he deserved to sleep for all the things he went through and did for others.

She lifted her right hand to cradle the side of his neck, the silky locks of the dirty blond strands tangling in her fingers, stroking and carding through to keep her mind busy, her heart heavy, trying not to get stuck on how cold his ear was. He was unconscious, passed out from the trauma his body suffered, and she felt that pressure at the back of her throat, the burn in her nostrils as she swallowed it all back. Her gaze flickered to his face, studying him in the quiet that blanketed them, his brows no longer furrowed and relaxed, the sharp lines on his forehead fading as the muscles loosened.

She took a deep breath, leaning forward to rest her temple on the crown of his head, and sighed.

Leon stirred and was roused to consciousness by a rhythmic pattern of constant pressure, massaging his scalp. He recognized the feeling immediately, the gentle scratches on his head and the comforting petting motion, the soft, affectionate touches, the familiarity of the sensation soothing him to wakefulness, and his eyelashes fluttered, attempting to blink open the haziness.

He wasn't fully aware, he was still out of it, barely lucid, and there was a sharp pain in his left shoulder, pulsating and shooting down to the tip of his finger, making it tingle as he wiggled his digits, the limb felt stiff and leaden. He couldn't move it properly, but he didn't try, just remained where he was, comforted by the ministrations.

There was something cold, wet, and slightly painful on the tender spot of the affected area, and he became aware of his surroundings, of the scent of antiseptic, of the drip of leaking pipes somewhere, of the crackling of electricity in the cables, the noises of the sewers he was all too familiar with by now. He had his right side leaning into a body, head lolled on the curve of a warm shoulder, his arm was dead asleep from lying on top of it for who knows how long, and he was tempted to move it to get the pins and needles out of it, but his eyes landed on Vera's face, her own tilted up and away from him, her expression distant.

"... Vera...?" He tried, his voice strained and feeble, coming out in a rasp. The strokes on his head paused and stopped altogether, and she flinched, startled by the suddenness of his awakening. Leon tried to clear his throat and failed, his lips parched and cracking, tongue heavy. He blinked rapidly to fight off the fatigue. "Wha... What—"

That's when he noticed the dead body lying on the ground, right in front of him and Vera at their feet, with the shovel sticking out of its skull.

Vera removed her fingers from his head, and he immediately missed it, completely at a loss as to what was happening. She glanced at the corpse with a scowl, before setting her attention back on him.

"Don't worry about that," she said, not a trace of remorse on her features, twirling a silver band with a green digital band on her left wrist — and Leon immediately took notice of her bandaged hand underneath the fingerless gloves.

He wanted to reach for it to examine it, to check if it was injured and if he could do anything, but the ache in his shoulder prevented him from lifting his arm. "Are you... Okay? What happened to your—"

She shrugged, offering him a nonchalant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Don't worry about that either. Do you want to sleep some more? We're safe here for a while. I checked."

Her eyes roamed across his face, assessing him, checking him for injuries, a downward pull at the corners of her mouth. Leon's mind was too foggy to keep up. "Ada..?"

She kept staring ahead for a while, stuck in the process of trying to form a reply, and she glanced at him. Her hair was damp and hanging around her in loose curls, stray strands were plastered to her cheeks, framing her face. Leon thought it was very fitting. "Went after Annette."

The cold, hard floor was seeping the warmth out of his body, the wind blowing in from somewhere icy, but he still found it in himself to give her a disapproving frown. "You should've forgotten about me. I would've caught up."

"Always the hero, never the damsel," Vera commented, a sigh of exasperation leaving her lips as she reached over to fuss over the bandages on his shoulder, tugging on the ends to fix the arrangement. "How is your pain? Still hurts like a bitch? Wanna pop some pills?"

It was almost impossible to think clearly, but he realized he'd been a burden enough for the two of them. "No. Save it. Just let me... Sit for a while."

"There is no honor or victory in bearing the pain Leon, just take the damn painkillers," she snapped, annoyed for whatever reason, her brow quirked up, daring him to defy her, and it clicked — the severity of his situation must have kicked in Vera's protectiveness and she was angry he almost got himself killed. It was sort of endearing to know he'd matter to somebody that much, but the shame of letting her down was just as strong.

Leon tried to sit up with the strength of one arm, struggling with it for a moment, before he managed to move a few inches, and Vera was there in an instant to help, her arm around his back, keeping him upright.

The shift of positions was awkward and clumsy and required her assistance, but he found himself thankful she was there to keep him from crashing to the floor. He leaned back onto the wall and grunted at the impact, and Vera was right beside him, hovering as he took a few deep breaths, waiting for it to pass.

He stared at the body on the ground instead, not knowing who this person was, wondering their life before the outbreak. "Yeah, al—alright."

Vera stuck her hand inside the pouch of the backpack between her legs to rummage around, the zipper opening with a loud sound, and she took out a small box with a first aid label.

To him, an eternity had passed when the capsule fell into his open palm, and another one followed shortly afterwards. It was embarrassing to be unable to perform the simple task of popping the pills in his mouth, his left hand useless and unmoving, and he wanted to shout in frustration, but Vera was there, guiding his hand to the bottom of the plastic bottle, helping him raise it to his lips.

He drank it greedily, the coolness of the liquid running down his throat, washing away the soreness, and the pill slid in effortlessly as he chased the freshness, before she withdrew her hand and Leon pulled back.

He kept gulping it down, a few drops dribbling down the corner of his mouth, and he licked at the corner of his lips to catch it before it spilled. Vera turned to the side, returning the box and the water bottle to the bag, and he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

"Is the wristband from the unfortunate bastard?" He asked, craning his neck to peer at the dead body, at the protruding shovel. Vera hummed.

"Yep," she mumbled, looking up, the hollow in her eyes still present, her gaze distant and glazed over. "That door doesn't open without one of these, 's how he got in."

"I don't even wanna know how you managed to kill him," he chuckled, impressed with her, always impressed with her, and he didn't understand why she seemed to have an issue with it. "And what the hell happened to your hand?"

She flexed the fingers of the said hand, wriggling them in the glove. "Asshole snuck up on us. Closest thing was the knife and well, grabbed the blade in a haste. Ouch ensued. Nothing bad. No nerve damage outside my ego."

Leon studied her profile, the slope of her nose, the soft, full line of her lips. She definitely looked younger without the black lipstick, and the dark circles underneath her eyes looked more prominent than usual. "Any news from Claire?"

Vera shook her head, shifting to turn towards him, pulling up her leg to cross it over the other, and rested her elbow on the knee. "Nothing yet but I did call her about you. Told her to keep searching for Sherry. She sounded pretty shaken up. You should talk to her if you feel up to it, she'd probably appreciate it. Let her know you're okay."

The thought of Claire being worried about him made him wince internally, and he felt like absolute shit for being the reason behind the fear. Claire was doing all this on her own, with nobody to watch her back, and he was in a cozy spot with Vera by his side.

"We should keep going," he sighed, carefully wiggling his left shoulder to gauge the damage and testing the limits of the range of movements. "We've lost too much time already because of me. Can't afford to stall any more."

"Give it some time," Vera proposed, waving a dismissive hand, and Leon closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her knuckles grazing over his forehead, and for a moment it didn't cross his mind that she was checking his temperature, taking it as a sweet gesture. "Let the meds kick in. At least until you can stand on your own."

Vera's entire person screamed 'just relax, everything's gonna be fine' as she took on the role of taking care of him, and Leon wanted to let himself be taken care of by someone else for a change, wanted to forget about all the bullshit they've been through for a minute and bask in the tranquility that she offered, to allow himself to be the weak and not be responsible for anyone else but himself. It was hard not to give in to the temptation, his nerves too strung up to deal with it on his own, and it was so easy to get used to this.

And this was the perfect opportunity.

"Only if you tell me why you hid the truth."

Vera's hands stilled, the calm replaced with hesitation and alarm, her shoulders tense, her entire being rigid. It was brief, fleeting, lasting a split second, but Leon noticed the subtle changes that occurred in her demeanor.

"What?" She tried to brush it off with a casual chuckle, but it came out too forced, and Leon wouldn't have it. Not now. He wanted to know. Deserved to.

Maybe it was Leon's own fault for not seeing it before, he'd only known Vera for a day after all, deeming it a personality trait or a quirk of hers, and perhaps even a trauma response that she would barely react to information that others would freak out over, like he and Claire did. She knew Sherry, it was natural she would have information about her parents about being virologists, but the minute Ada had revealed they worked for Umbrella, all the little nuggets of knowledge Vera had dropped that would otherwise be classified as useless information, all the tiny clues that were too insignificant and nonsensical at first, fell into place and made sense. W.B. William Birkin. Brian Irons. The sewers. Ben Bertolucci. Vera Kaplan, P.I.

"You knew it was Umbrella. From the beginning. Why did you keep it a secret?"

She froze, not even a muscle twitching, her eyes wide and fixed on him, all the oxygen got sucked out of the room. It was a wonder she didn't stop breathing altogether, the only noise that broke through the dense atmosphere being the buzz of the neon light in the distance. Leon wanted to take it back, to take it all back and pretend it didn't happen, but they couldn't remain stuck in the past.

"I mean, why act like you had no idea at all— you just... Watched us, watched me go out of my mind, with Sherry and... and Claire and—" He bit his tongue to stop the words from spilling, to refrain from saying too much, and to avoid crossing a line, continued softly, "I don't understand."

Vera's blank face became devoid of color, her complexion taking on a sickly hue, and he was almost sure she'd shut down on him, but she surprised him when she lowered her eyes and dipped her chin. "I suppose it doesn't matter how you figured it out, huh?"

Leon didn't want to fight her, not about this. Not when all he wanted was the truth, the undiluted version of it. Not when all he wanted to do was understand her, the motivations behind her actions and why she felt the need to hide. "Who are you, really?"

"Fucking hell, I didn't bullshit that much. You saw me bury my father, give me some grace," Vera scoffed, rolling her eyes, and she looked annoyed, but not at him, at herself. He wanted to retract, to tell her he was sorry, he didn't mean it to sound that way, but she beat him to it. "... I'm sorry. It's not you, it's— no, it was you, that's dumb, I'm sorry. But, not in the way you think, ugh—" Vera pushed herself off the ground with an unceremonious groan, stepping over the dead body with a slight sway to her step, and held the handle of the shovel in a firm grip. "I can't just go around and give this information to anyone. Like, hello, this is a big ass company that has government officials under their payroll and nearly all of the city's residents dying because of this virus. And before that even happened, what do you think happened to people who blew the whistle on Umbrella? Hmm?"

Vera pulled the shovel from the deceased's head, and the resistance in the rotted flesh and bone made her grunt. She took a deep breath, giving it another forceful tug to loosen it, and with a final pull, the head came free, and Vera stumbled back from the momentum, barely catching herself. "They disappear. Never to be found again. They all become a statistic. People who never existed and are erased from the records, as if they never lived to begin with, as if they never mattered. Maybe their loved ones never even learn the truth about their fate."

Leon watched her with intent, observing her every move as she began to pace, back and forth, around the small area. "And... And I was in it from birth, Leon. You remember the orphanage? Founded by Umbrella. I don't know Irons because he was the boss of my dad, I know him from there. He was the director. He ran that shithole. Sold children to be test subjects. Like fucking livestock."

"What?" Leon breathed, his eyes following her as she moved. All warmth in his body drained, leeched out by the very words she uttered.

"Do you have any idea how fucked up these people are? The things they did to my friends? They preyed on the poor and homeless kids who came in as abandoned infants, fostered them for years and then handed them over to the researchers to be experimented on, to see if their mothers' drug addictions affected them in any way or something."

She was… speaking a different language, one that he heard but still comprehended one way or another, his stomach twisted and undulated, calcifying from the mental images, his blood running cold. "What the fuck."

Kids. Kids. Children. 

Experimented on. 

Leon had to lean forward and support his head, focus on breathing loudly from his nose so he wouldn't throw up. The dizziness had him frantically blinking to make it go away. What kind of world was this? What kind of monsters lived in this city? It wasn't the ones that kept coming back from the dead, that was for sure. 

Vera rubbed her fingers together, her eyes darting all over the place. "And I found out too late, after I got out. After Marvin... Yeah. I was like some golden fucking goose for them, I don't know. Good for P.R. Gifted kid. I was worth something because I was the face of the Raccoon Orphanage for Umbrella, the star pupil of Raccoon City, the girl who went places and became a technological genius and made something of herself—"

"You're Doe-Eyed Jane," Leon completed, Jesus, his whole generation was plagued by this girl who only lived through the T.V. and newspapers. She was all anyone — any parents could ever talk about at family gatherings. Documentaries, the news, the magazines. Jane Doe, the Girl Who Defied All Odds. He remembered the stories about her going viral, about how she was a prodigy, so small compared to the guest speakers on the screens, shaking their hands as she presented the projects she was working on, what had won science fair competitions, all the academic awards she had earned. Leon had thought she was too good to be true, too unreal to exist, and wondered if she was ever really a real girl who was actually living or just some stunt to boost the company's image. The poor, unfortunate orphan who was so smart that she got an internship with the leading corporation in the country, the future of their tech innovations, and he could see her clearly in his mind, standing on stage in front of cameras with an Umbrella representative, holding up an award. It wasn’t a mental image he’d conjured up, too, there really were poses she had given with Oswell Spencer, the creator and founder of the company, in the covers of many newspapers.

Even in that giant portrait in the orphanage’s hall.

"Yeah," she confirmed with a grimace. "Doe-Eyed Jane. Shitty name for a shitty image. The golden calf they paraded around to convince people that Umbrella was good."

Leon had to stop to take a deep breath. He would have never been able to guess. The little girl and Vera in front of him were different people. So different. One was a cheerful and outgoing child, who smiled at the camera with big bright eyes and shiny teeth, who laughed in interviews, who waved to the crowds that swarmed her, well-mannered, intelligent, and polite, dressed in expensive clothes with her hair always in the same braids, and the other one was this fierce, stubborn young woman with a sharp tongue, a blazing fire in her eyes, and an aura of an untouchable confidence with the penchant for trouble and chaos.

"I'm sorry for not telling you, or Claire, I really am. At first, I didn't think it was even necessary. It became a matter of eventually spilling the beans. And I really couldn't handle being fucking questioned, you know? About how I could have prevented it, how I could have done something— believe me, I know. I've had to live with that. Every single day of my life. Because in the end I took advantage of the cushy life Umbrella provided for me. How could I look anyone in the eye after learning what I now know?" She gestured around wildly, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm not gonna lie to you or make excuses. It was easier to shut up, to be honest, than to talk about it. All of it."

She clasped her hands behind her head, threading her fingers through the disheveled mess of brown strands, and shook her head. "The shitty thing is that I wanted to at some point, and I just couldn't. I just kept coming up with reasons to postpone it further, oh the timing isn't right, oh Marvin no, oh Sherry disappeared, oops, there goes Claire too. And then… and then too much time passed. I was too scared I would ruin our trust."

She crossed the length of the small corridor, moving from side to side, unable to keep still, the silence settling between them heavy, as his eyes stayed glued to the floor, vibrating from the anxiety, from the pent up emotion that was begging to be let out he really didn’t think should be the focus here.

"Not that it matters now," she whispered, almost inaudible. Leon glanced up from his spot, and she looked miserable. "But I'm going to use it for good. That's why I'm recording shit and collecting documents left and right. To make sure nothing like this happens again. I was Umbrella for years, and the moment I was aware, I betrayed them. This time I'll do it right. I will make sure they pay. All of them. Even if it kills me. I swear. That, you can trust."

He understood. He couldn't say he was happy about the outcome, but he understood. And for now, that had to be enough. "Okay."

Vera halted and stared at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. "What?"

"I said okay."

She continued to stare at him with an open mouth, blinking, gawking, a fish out of the water. "That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?" Leon shrugged, the movement shooting a hot, white bolt of lightning up to his neck, and he flinched, hissing. Vera took a hesitant step forward, wanting to help but not knowing if he would accept it, and he extended his good arm towards her, making her understand he wanted her closer. "At least you were right about this not being the right time to talk about it."

She moved as he beckoned, placing her palm in his, Leon intertwined their fingers together, and she tugged, helping him get up. "We're on the same side. Whatever information you have, no matter how insignificant, can be of use. And not to me. To the victims. They deserve justice. They deserve someone who stands up for them. Or else what would their sacrifices have been for? Just promise me you will be there to speak for them."

Vera bowed her head, and Leon could see a single tear drop falling from her eye, hanging on to her chin, and then disappearing into the material of her turtleneck, her voice weak, "They will get justice."

He gave her hand a tight squeeze, a physical reassurance, and she squeezed back, nodding.

[trending-makeupcourses]

The Journey to Becoming a Makeup Artist After 12th Grade

After finishing makeup courses after 12th grade, are you a developing makeup enthusiast wondering where a career in the beauty sector can take you? The opportunities are infinite, ranging from working as a freelance makeup artist to taking on internal jobs and professional roles like makeup consultant or beauty influencer. Developing your skills, learning new things constantly, and using smart job application strategies are all essential to a successful career as a makeup artist. This post explores the many career options, necessary competencies, and job application techniques to help you launch your beauty career after high school and succeed in the cutthroat makeup market.

Potential Career Paths

Freelance Makeup Artist: After completing makeup artist courses after the 12th, offer services on their own, frequently specializing in bridal or editorial areas.

In-House Artist: Employed by cosmetic brands, salons, or spas.

Professional Roles: After earning a diploma in makeup artist after 12th, jobs as a makeup consultant, beauty influencer, or educator in a beauty school.

Knowing these industries and job titles enables you to locate your specialty and adjust your training appropriately.

Continuous Learning & Staying Updated in the Industry

After completing makeup courses after 12th, one must continue to learn to keep ahead in the makeup field. Keeping up with emerging trends and techniques is also helpful to maintain competitiveness. Attending workshops or continuing education classes can help you advance your knowledge and become familiar with the newest tools and techniques.

Skill Development for Aspiring Makeup Artists

How to become a makeup artist in India after completing your 12th grade? Becoming a makeup artist demands devotion and constant practice.

Your portfolio acts as a visual CV, showcasing your experience and qualifications to prospective employers or clients.

By following these below steps, you can improve your methods and become more adaptable in responding to any kind of request from a client.Here are some crucial aspects to pay attention to:

1. Exercising on a Variety of Skin Types and Tone

Working with different skin kinds and tones will help you improve your abilities. This leads to improved outcomes by assisting you in understanding how various products respond on various skin types.

2. Compiling an Exhibit

It is essential to have a professional portfolio that displays the range of styles you have created. This may consist of:

Special effects makeup

Editorial looks

Bridal makeup

Daily beauty looks

Employment Applications & Opportunities for Freelance

how to become makeup artist after 12th?Starting out in the industry means being proactive and well-prepared when applying to salons or studios. Here are some pointers:

Advice on Applying to Studios or Salons

Create an Impressive Resume: Emphasize your training, education, and any practical experience you may have obtained from assistant positions or internships.

Tailor Your Application: After taking makeup courses after 12th, personalize your cover letter and résumé for each salon or studio to demonstrate that you are aware of their unique requirements.

Make Use of Your Network: Reach out to people you met at workshops or internships to ask for recommendations or introductions.

Exhibit Your Portfolio: When attending interviews, bring a hard copy portfolio of your work, and make sure your internet portfolio reflects your post for makeup courses after 12th.

Top 5 Makeup Academies of India

We have talked so far about makeup courses after 12th grade.You must now be searching for some of the top academies to launch your career in beauty after completing your 12th grade education.The majority of institutes provide thorough diploma programs in hair styling, makeup.

Meribindiya International Academy

SMA International Makeup Academy 

Meenakshi Dutt Makeup Academy 

Shweta Gaur Makeup Academy

Atul chauchan makeover Academy 

Final Thoughts

For those who want to become makeup artist courses after 12th, the book provides a variety of career options, stressing the value of ongoing education, skill enhancement, and successful job search techniques. People can improve their job chances and navigate the makeup industry more skillfully by being aware of these components.

[krivainstitute]

The Best Beauty Institute in India: Kriva Institute

Introduction

In today's fast-paced world, the demand for beauty and aesthetic treatments has surged, making cosmetology a lucrative and dynamic field. Educational institutes play a crucial role in equipping aspiring professionals with the necessary skills and knowledge to thrive in this industry. Among these, Kriva Institute stands out as the Best Beauty Institute in India, offering top-tier education and training in cosmetology and aesthetics.

Why Kriva Institute is the Best Beauty Institute in India

Accreditation and Recognition

Kriva Institute is recognized and accredited by leading industry bodies, ensuring that its programs meet the highest standards of education and training. This accreditation not only adds value to the qualifications earned by its students but also enhances their employability in the competitive beauty industry.

Expertise of the Faculty

The faculty at Kriva Institute comprises highly experienced professionals who are experts in their respective fields. Their deep knowledge and commitment to teaching ensure that students receive a comprehensive and up-to-date education. Faculty members bring real-world experience into the classroom, bridging the gap between theoretical knowledge and practical application.

Comprehensive Curriculum Tailored to Industry Needs

Kriva Institute offers a robust curriculum that covers all facets of cosmetology and aesthetics. The courses are meticulously designed to align with industry needs, ensuring that students are well-prepared to meet the demands of their future careers. The curriculum includes both theoretical instruction and hands-on training, providing a well-rounded educational experience.

Exploring the Courses at Kriva Institute

MSc in Facial Aesthetics and Cosmetology

Detailed Course Structure and Duration

The MSc program is a two-year course that delves into advanced topics in facial aesthetics and cosmetology. It includes extensive practical training and theoretical instruction.

Key Subjects and Practical Training

The program covers subjects such as skin biology, cosmetic dermatology, advanced facial treatments, and laser therapies. Students gain hands-on experience through practical sessions in state-of-the-art labs.

Career Opportunities After Completion

Graduates of the MSc program can pursue careers as aesthetic practitioners, consultants, or establish their own beauty clinics. The comprehensive training equips them with the skills needed to excel in various roles within the beauty industry.

Fellowship in Aesthetic Medicine

Detailed Course Structure and Duration

This one-year fellowship is designed for medical professionals seeking to specialize in aesthetic medicine. It combines clinical training with in-depth theoretical knowledge.

Key Subjects and Practical Training

The fellowship includes training in advanced injectables, non-surgical facial contouring, and body sculpting techniques. Practical sessions are held in fully equipped clinics and labs.

Career Opportunities After Completion

Fellows can work in prestigious aesthetic clinics, hospitals, or start their own practices. The fellowship enhances their expertise, making them leaders in the field of aesthetic medicine.

Diploma in Cosmetology

Detailed Course Structure and Duration

The diploma is a one-year course that provides foundational knowledge and practical skills in cosmetology. It includes both classroom instruction and hands-on training.

Key Subjects and Practical Training

Subjects include hair care, skincare, makeup artistry, and nail technology. Students also receive training in client care and business management, preparing them for diverse roles in the beauty industry.

Career Opportunities After Completion

Diploma holders can work as cosmetologists in salons, spas, and wellness centers. The course prepares them for a wide range of cosmetology roles, enabling them to provide high-quality beauty treatments.

Distinctive Features of Kriva Institute

Modern Infrastructure and Facilities

Kriva Institute boasts state-of-the-art infrastructure, including fully equipped labs, simulation centers, and aesthetic clinics. These facilities provide a conducive learning environment, allowing students to practice and hone their skills.

Emphasis on Practical and Hands-on Training

The institute places a strong emphasis on practical training, ensuring that students gain hands-on experience with the latest technologies and techniques in cosmetology. Live demonstrations and practical sessions are integral parts of the curriculum, helping students to develop their skills.

Strong Industry Connections and Internship Opportunities

Kriva Institute has established strong partnerships with leading cosmetology clinics and beauty brands. These connections provide students with valuable internship opportunities, allowing them to gain real-world experience and build professional networks.

Holistic Student Support System

The institute offers a comprehensive support system, including academic counseling, career guidance, and mental health resources. These services ensure that students have the support they need to succeed in their studies and future careers.

Admission Process

Eligibility Criteria

Prospective students must have a relevant undergraduate degree or equivalent qualification to apply for the MSc and fellowship programs. For the diploma course, a high school diploma or equivalent is required.

Detailed Application Process

The application process involves submitting an online application form, academic transcripts, and letters of recommendation. Shortlisted candidates may be required to attend an interview.

Important Dates and Deadlines

Applicants should check the institute's website for specific application deadlines and program start dates. Early applications are encouraged to secure a place in the desired course.

Conclusion

Kriva Institute stands out as the best beauty institute in India, offering top-notch education, state-of-the-art facilities, and unparalleled support services. Prospective students are encouraged to apply and take the first step towards a rewarding career in cosmetology and aesthetics.

[jeevayaayurveda]

Jeevaya Institute: Leading Ayurveda Diploma Course in Kerala

Jeevaya Institute of Ayurvedic and Wellness is a premier choice for those seeking an Ayurveda diploma course in Kerala. Situated in Kuttippuram, Kerala, Jeevaya offers government-recognized diploma programs in Panchakarma, Ayurveda Nursing, and Spa Therapy. Established in 2012, the institute combines traditional Ayurvedic training with practical, hands-on learning under expert faculty. The campus provides free food and accommodation, and all graduates benefit from a 100% placement guarantee, enabling a smooth start to their Ayurvedic careers.

Why Choose Jeevaya?

Practical Skill Development: Courses focus on hands-on training, ensuring students gain real-world expertise.

Student-Friendly Amenities: Free accommodation and meals are offered to support students in a stress-free environment.

Guaranteed Job Placement: Jeevaya ensures career support with its 100% placement guarantee, aiding graduates in securing roles in wellness centers, hospitals, and spas.

Guidance from Expert Faculty: The institute’s experienced faculty provides thorough mentorship, ensuring students leave with industry-ready skills.

For detailed information on the Ayurveda diploma course in Kerala, visit Jeevaya Institute’s website.

[mdilip948]

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[emaaramaris62]

Emaar Amaris Sector 62 Gurugram: Experience Elegance and Convenience Combined

Gurugram, one of the most progressive and dynamic cities in India, has rapidly transformed into a hub for luxury real estate. With cutting-edge infrastructure, world-class amenities, and an attractive cosmopolitan lifestyle, Gurugram has attracted homebuyers, investors, and businesses alike. Among the most sought-after addresses in the city is Emaar Amaris, located in Sector 62. This premier residential development brings together elegance, modernity, and convenience in a harmonious blend, making it the perfect choice for individuals and families seeking a sophisticated living experience.

Whether you are considering purchasing a home for yourself or investing in a property that promises high returns, Emaar Amaris Sector 62 should definitely be on your radar. Here’s why:

Overview of Emaar Amaris Sector 62 Gurugram

Emaar Amaris is a luxury residential project that stands as a symbol of sophistication and contemporary living. Developed by Emaar India, a subsidiary of the globally renowned Emaar Properties, this development offers homes that combine modern design, world-class amenities, and unmatched convenience. Emaar is a name synonymous with excellence in real estate, and its ventures in Gurugram further emphasize the brand's commitment to high standards.

Situated in Sector 62, one of the most well-connected locations in Gurugram, Emaar Amaris offers quick access to key commercial hubs, educational institutions, hospitals, and leisure destinations. It’s an address that guarantees both luxury and practicality.

Key Highlights of Emaar Amaris Sector 62

Prime Location in Sector 62: The location of Emaar Amaris Sector 62 is one of the most appealing aspects of the project. Sector 62 is strategically situated near Golf Course Road, which is known for its connectivity to major arterial roads such as the Delhi-Gurugram Expressway and the Dwarka Expressway. This provides easy access to Cyber City, MG Road, and NH-8, making it convenient for professionals working in the commercial centers of the city. In addition to business hubs, Sector 62 is also close to several schools, hospitals, shopping malls, and recreational spots, ensuring that residents have everything they need within easy reach.

Luxurious Residential Spaces: Emaar Amaris offers a variety of residential options, including 3BHK, and 4BHK apartments, designed with an emphasis on space, light, and air circulation. The apartments are built to meet the needs of modern families, with well-designed layouts and contemporary finishes. The interiors feature high-quality materials, smart home features, and advanced fittings. The apartments are spacious, ensuring that every member of the family has their own comfortable space. Large windows allow for abundant natural light, creating a bright and airy ambiance, while the open-plan living and dining areas make for a perfect space for family gatherings or entertaining guests.

World-Class Amenities: Living at Emaar Amaris Sector 62 is an experience defined by comfort, luxury, and convenience. The development is equipped with an extensive range of amenities that elevate the quality of life for its residents:

Clubhouse: The clubhouse at Emaar Amaris is a hub for socializing, leisure, and wellness activities. It is equipped with modern fitness facilities, a spa, a swimming pool, and recreational spaces.

Swimming Pool: An outdoor swimming pool allows residents to unwind after a long day or indulge in an invigorating swim.

Gymnasium: A state-of-the-art gym ensures that fitness is an integral part of your lifestyle.

Landscaped Gardens: Lush green gardens and walking paths provide an oasis of peace within the urban landscape.

Multipurpose Hall: A versatile space that can be used for community events, gatherings, or personal celebrations.

24/7 Security: The complex is secured with modern surveillance systems and round-the-clock security personnel, ensuring the safety of all residents.

Kids’ Play Area: A designated area for children’s play allows them to safely enjoy outdoor activities while socializing with other kids in the community.

Jogging Tracks and Cycling Tracks: Health-conscious residents can enjoy the jogging and cycling tracks, ideal for staying fit while surrounded by nature.

Sustainable and Green Living: Emaar Amaris prioritizes sustainability and environmental responsibility. The project is designed with eco-friendly features that reduce the carbon footprint and offer a cleaner, greener living experience. Some of the key sustainable features include:

Rainwater Harvesting Systems: To conserve water and reduce wastage.

Energy-Efficient Lighting: Common areas are illuminated with LED lights to minimize energy consumption.

Waste Management: Efficient waste management systems are in place to ensure proper disposal and recycling.

Green Spaces: Extensive green spaces and landscaping add to the beauty of the development while also improving air quality.

Modern Security Systems: Emaar Amaris ensures that its residents live in a safe and secure environment. The property is equipped with 24/7 security surveillance systems, including CCTV cameras, gated entry points, and trained security personnel. The presence of these features guarantees that families feel safe and at ease in their homes.

Proximity to Key Hubs in Gurugram: Emaar Amaris’ strategic location in Sector 62 places it in close proximity to major business and commercial hubs in Gurugram. Some of the key locations nearby include:

Cyber Hub: Known as the corporate and social hub of Gurugram, Cyber Hub is home to many multinational companies, restaurants, and entertainment centers.

MG Road: A major commercial area, MG Road is known for its shopping malls, restaurants, cafes, and leisure facilities.

Golf Course Road: This road is dotted with high-end residential and commercial developments, making it one of the most coveted locations in the city.

NH-8 and Dwarka Expressway: These highways provide excellent connectivity to Delhi and other parts of Gurugram, making commuting convenient.

Efficient Transportation Network: The transport connectivity of Sector 62 adds to the appeal of Emaar Amaris. The development is situated within a few minutes’ drive from key roads, making it easy for residents to travel within the city and beyond. Public transportation options, such as metro stations, bus routes, and auto rickshaws, are readily accessible. Additionally, proximity to the Indira Gandhi International Airport (approximately 20-25 minutes) and the New Delhi Railway Station makes traveling to other parts of the country or abroad highly convenient.

Why Choose Emaar Amaris Sector 62?

Reputed Developer – Emaar Properties: Emaar Properties is a globally recognized real estate developer with an impeccable track record. The company has built iconic developments such as the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, as well as other residential, commercial, and mixed-use projects across the world. With a commitment to high-quality construction, timely delivery, and innovative designs, Emaar ensures that all its developments exceed expectations.

High Rental Yield and Investment Potential: Gurugram’s real estate market has proven to be a lucrative investment destination, with consistent demand for high-end residential properties. Due to its prime location, sophisticated amenities, and modern design, Emaar Amaris Sector 62 offers a high rental yield, making it an attractive investment opportunity. The area’s proximity to business districts and key commercial hubs ensures that demand for quality residential spaces remains robust.

Vibrant Community and Lifestyle: Emaar Amaris is more than just a home; it is a lifestyle choice. The development attracts a diverse community of professionals, families, and retirees, creating a vibrant, welcoming atmosphere. The presence of amenities such as the clubhouse, gardens, and jogging tracks encourages social interaction, making it easy for residents to connect with like-minded individuals.

Peaceful and Serene Environment: While Sector 62 is strategically located in the heart of Gurugram, it also offers a serene and peaceful environment. The development’s green spaces, landscaped gardens, and well-planned architecture ensure that residents enjoy a quiet retreat away from the hustle and bustle of the city, allowing them to relax and rejuvenate after a busy day.

Conclusion: Your Dream Home Awaits at Emaar Amaris Sector 62 Gurugram

In conclusion, Emaar Amaris Sector 62 Gurugram represents the epitome of luxurious living, combining world-class amenities, a prime location, and modern design. Whether you're seeking a comfortable home for your family or a valuable investment opportunity, Emaar Amaris offers everything you need to lead a sophisticated and fulfilling lifestyle.

Don't miss out on the chance to experience the luxury and convenience of Emaar Amaris. Act now and schedule a site visit today. You can contact Reias India Real Estate to get more details and to explore the property firsthand:

Call Us: +91 99999 64462

Email Us: info@reiasindia.com

Visit Our Website: Reias India Real Estate Private Limited

Our office is located at R-2131, M3M Cosmopolitan, Sector 66, Gurgaon.

Take the first step toward securing your dream home at Emaar Amaris – where elegance and convenience come together seamlessly.

[muskanhealthcareblogger]

PG Diploma in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine: Complete Guide

With the growing demand for beauty and wellness services, a career in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine offers promising opportunities. If you have a passion for skin care, beauty treatments, and medical aesthetics, then a PG Diploma in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine could be the perfect pathway to specialize in this thriving field.

In this guide, we’ll explore what the diploma entails, its benefits, career paths, and how it can be a valuable addition to your professional qualifications.

Understanding Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine

What is Cosmetology?

Cosmetology is the study and application of beauty treatments, covering everything from skincare and haircare to nail services and makeup artistry. It’s designed to improve personal appearance and boost confidence.

What is Aesthetic Medicine?

Aesthetic medicine refers to medical treatments focused on enhancing the physical appearance through non-surgical methods, like botox injections, fillers, and laser treatments.

Difference Between Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine

While cosmetology focuses on non-medical beauty treatments, aesthetic medicine combines medical expertise with cosmetic procedures to address deeper skin issues, age-related changes, and more.

Benefits of a PG Diploma in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine

Advanced Skills and Expertise Gained

This diploma provides specialized training in the latest beauty and aesthetic techniques, from chemical peels to laser therapies, enabling professionals to offer a range of advanced treatments safely and effectively.

Career Opportunities

Graduates can find career opportunities in beauty clinics, dermatology centers, medical spas, and wellness centers. There’s also potential for entrepreneurial ventures.

Impact on Patient Care and Client Satisfaction

With a PG Diploma, professionals are better equipped to deliver safe, high-quality treatments, ultimately leading to higher client satisfaction and loyalty.

Curriculum Overview

Core Topics Covered

A PG Diploma in this field usually covers the following topics:

Skin Anatomy and Physiology: Understanding the structure and functions of the skin is essential for effective treatment.

Laser Treatments and Skin Resurfacing: Techniques for hair removal, acne treatment, and anti-aging are commonly included.

Practical Training

Hands-on training is an essential part of the course, allowing students to perform procedures and analyze real case studies.

Eligibility Criteria

Who Can Enroll?

The program is typically open to healthcare professionals such as doctors, nurses, and dentists. Some programs may also consider individuals with a background in cosmetology or beauty therapy.

Educational Background and Professional Experience

Applicants should generally have a relevant medical or science-based background, as well as a basic understanding of anatomy.

Course Duration and Structure

Typical Course Length

Most PG Diploma programs in cosmetology and aesthetic medicine range from six months to one year, depending on the institution and study mode.

Online vs. Offline Learning Modes

While some institutions offer flexible online learning, practical sessions are often conducted on-site due to the hands-on nature of the course.

Top Institutions Offering PG Diploma in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine

There are several reputable institutions worldwide offering PG Diploma programs in cosmetology and aesthetic medicine. When choosing a program, consider factors like course content, faculty experience, and student support.

Cost and Financial Considerations

Tuition Fees

The cost of the program varies widely, from around $2,000 to $10,000 or more, depending on the location and institution.

Scholarships, Grants, and Financial Aid Options

Some institutions offer scholarships or financial aid. It’s worth researching these options to help offset the cost of the program.

Career Pathways Post-Diploma

Clinic-Based Careers

With a PG Diploma, you can work as an aesthetic practitioner in skin clinics, medical spas, or dermatology centers.

Research and Academia

Professionals with an interest in research can contribute to studies in skin science or pursue a career in teaching aesthetic medicine.

Entrepreneurial Opportunities in the Beauty and Wellness Industry

Many graduates go on to start their own clinics, spas, or wellness centers, offering personalized treatments and consultations.

Challenges of Pursuing a PG Diploma in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine

The program requires a strong understanding of both theoretical knowledge and practical application, which can be challenging for newcomers. Additionally, keeping up with industry advancements requires continuous learning.

Future Trends in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine

Emerging Technologies in Aesthetic Treatments

New technologies like AI in treatment personalization and advancements in laser and light therapies are revolutionizing the industry.

How a Diploma Prepares You for a Future-Ready Career

This diploma keeps professionals updated on the latest trends and technologies, ensuring they are equipped to handle client needs and market demands.

Conclusion

A PG Diploma in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine is an invaluable credential for anyone looking to specialize in beauty and aesthetic treatments. From enhancing patient satisfaction to opening up exciting career opportunities, this diploma offers an enriching professional pathway for those passionate about the field.

FAQs

1. What is the primary focus of a PG Diploma in Cosmetology and Aesthetic Medicine?The course is designed to provide specialized skills in beauty and aesthetic treatments, preparing professionals for a variety of roles in the industry.

2. What are the career opportunities after completing this diploma?Graduates can work in clinics, spas, wellness centers, or even start their own business in cosmetology or aesthetic medicine.

3. Is this course suitable for non-medical professionals?While primarily geared towards those with a medical or science background, some programs may accept individuals with a strong foundation in beauty therapy.

4. What are the prerequisites for enrolling?Most programs require applicants to have a degree or diploma in medicine, nursing, or a related field.5. How do I select the best institution for this diploma?Consider factors like accreditation, faculty experience, course content, and hands-on training opportunities.

[reikicoursesau]

Energy Healing Courses in Melbourne: What You’ll Learn and Where to Begin

Energy healing, an ancient practice that harnesses the body's innate energy to promote physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being, is gaining significant popularity in Melbourne. These energy healing courses in Melbourne offer a unique opportunity to delve into the world of subtle energies, learn powerful techniques, and empower yourself to heal others.

What You'll Learn in an Energy Healing Course

A comprehensive energy healing course in Melbourne typically covers a range of essential topics:

The Basics of Energy Healing:

Understanding the concept of energy fields and chakras with a reiki master in Melbourne

Identifying and addressing energy imbalances

Energy Healing Techniques:

Reiki: A gentle, hands-on technique that promotes relaxation and healing

Pranic Healing: A potent method for healing the physical body that makes use of prana (life force energy)

Crystal Healing: The use of crystals to balance and harmonize energy centres

Sound Healing: The application of sound vibrations to induce relaxation and healing

Distance Healing: The ability to send healing energy to individuals remotely

Self-Healing Techniques:

Meditation and mindfulness practices

Breathing exercises to enhance energy flow

Grounding methods to access the energy of the Earth

Ethical Considerations and Professional Practice:

Understanding the importance of ethical conduct in energy healing

Setting boundaries and maintaining confidentiality

Building a successful energy healing practice

Where to Begin Your Energy Healing Journey in Melbourne

Melbourne offers a variety of options for those seeking energy healing courses such as:

Holistic Healing Centers and Spas:

Many holistic centres in Melbourne offer a range of energy healing courses, from introductory workshops to advanced certifications.

Look for centres that have experienced practitioners and a strong reputation in the community.

Community Colleges and Universities:

Some educational institutions offer short courses or workshops in energy healing as part of their complementary medicine programs.

These courses often provide a more academic approach to the subject.

Online Courses:

For those who prefer the flexibility of online learning, numerous online platforms offer energy healing courses.

These courses can be self-paced and provide access to a wealth of information and resources.

By undertaking an energy healing course in Melbourne, you can unlock your inner power, enhance your well-being, and embark on a fulfilling journey of healing and transformation.

Source

[vancoderm-academy]

Advance Your Skills with Medical Spa Aesthetic Training

Take your career in the aesthetics industry to the next level with advanced training from Vancoderm Academy, a leading institution in Medical spa aesthetics. Our comprehensive courses are designed to provide you with hands-on experience and expert knowledge in the latest techniques and technologies. Join Vancoderm Academy and gain the confidence, knowledge, and certification to deliver exceptional results to your clients.

Visit us - +1 604 973 1809

[trueasset123]

DLF The Dahlias Sector 54 Gurgaon

Located in Sector 54, DLF Gurgaon, Dahalias is a luxurious residence designed for those who want a luxurious lifestyle in the best of amenities. Located on Golf Course Road, one of Gurgaon’s most prestigious addresses, this unique development offers a spacious, elegantly designed residence that combines style, comfort and sophistication with locations that it is a picturesque view of the lush surroundings and easily accessible to the businesses of Gurgaon

Each residence at DLF The Dahlias features detailed layouts, high ceilings and luxurious finishes, designed to enhance the experience of modern luxury living The project offers world-class amenities, such as a clubhouse , fitness centre, spa, swimming pool and children’s playground Enjoy safety and dedicated parking, offering a safe and convenient lifestyle in the heart of Gurgaon.

Ideally located on Golf Course Road, DLF The Dahlias provides easy access to major destinations, including Cyber ​​City, top educational institutions, and shopping malls not only high quality but also a great investment opportunity due to its unparalleled location, design and amenities.

DLF The Dahlias Sector 54 Gurgaon New Luxury apartments on Golf Course Road Gurgaon DLF new project on golf course road Gurgaon DLF luxury residences Sector 54 Gurgaon

8750007475 info@trueassetconsultancy.com

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Central Park Golf Course Road Gurugram | Discover the true definition of luxury.

Central Park Golf Course Road in Gurugram is a prestigious residential property that offers an array of luxurious 2 BHK, 3 BHK, and 4 BHK residences, catering to the refined preferences of city people looking for comfort and elegance. Located along the prime stretch of Golf Course Road, one of Gurugram’s most sought-after addresses, it promises an unparalleled living experience with state-of-the-art amenities and elegantly designed spaces.

Each residence at the property is crafted with attention to detail, ensuring that residents enjoy a perfect blend of luxury, functionality, and sophistication. The 2 BHK apartments are ideal for young professionals or small families, offering well-planned living spaces with modern interiors, ample natural light, and scenic views of the cityscape. Designed to maximize space utilization, these homes come with stylish finishes, making them an excellent choice for those who appreciate elegance in compact spaces.

For families seeking a more spacious setting, the 3 BHK residences provide generous room for living, dining, and entertainment. These homes are crafted with larger families in mind, ensuring ample space and privacy for everyone. The 3 BHK units also feature premium fittings, high-quality fixtures, and large windows that allow for optimal sunlight and ventilation. It apartments are perfect for families who enjoy hosting gatherings and socializing in a stylish environment.

The crown jewel of this development, however, lies in its opulent 4 BHK residences. These spacious homes cater to larger families and those who desire expansive spaces for luxury living. The 4 BHK units boast grand interiors, designer finishes, and exclusive features, including spacious balconies that offer breathtaking views of the surroundings. These homes are designed for those who enjoy an elevated lifestyle, with an emphasis on both comfort and aesthetics.

Central Park Golf Course Road not only provides luxury residences but also includes an array of top-tier amenities that enhance the quality of life for its residents. The property features lush landscaped gardens, walking trails, a fully-equipped fitness center, a swimming pool, and dedicated recreational areas for children. Additionally, residents have access to a clubhouse, indoor and outdoor sports facilities, and a spa, ensuring a balanced lifestyle with plenty of opportunities for relaxation and recreation.

With its strategic location, the project offers excellent connectivity to key areas in Gurugram and beyond. The property is surrounded by premium shopping malls, reputed educational institutions, top-notch healthcare facilities, and fine-dining restaurants, making it an ideal location for a convenient and comfortable lifestyle. Furthermore, the proximity to major commercial hubs provides ease of access for professionals who work in and around Gurugram.

Central Park Group is the epitome of luxury living, offering thoughtfully designed 2 BHK, 3 BHK, and 4 BHK residences with world-class amenities and seamless connectivity. This property is perfect for individuals and families looking to elevate their lifestyle in one of Gurugram’s most prestigious locales.

[bofycraftacademy]

Professional Cosmetology Training & Related Career Opportunities

Have you thought of honing your innate beauty skills and taking up a professional course? Well, you can consider a professional cosmetology training course for creative and material fulfillment. A cosmetology course can help you learn the science behind beauty, which include hair, nail, and skin care. 

The world of cosmetology can open new windows of creative career opportunities so that you can reach new heights of success. A professional cosmetology training course typically entails topics such as deep skincare, hairstyling, makeup techniques, nail art, and many more. After completion of a cosmetology course from a trusted beauty institute like Bodycraft Academy, you will be honored with a certificate. You can become eligible for exciting jobs as a skin specialist, trichology expert, makeup technician, cosmetology instructor, or an entrepreneur (wherein you can open a cosmetology center).  

The Modern Outlook

The beauty industry has gained considerable significance in these modern times. Nowadays, external beauty plays a pivotal role in shaping your lifestyle and career. In this era, men as well as women want to enhance their appearance and look nearly flawless to get a fair chance in life. There are traditional and advanced cosmetic methods of beauty treatments available to the common man. For quick and long-term beauty-related options, more and more people are turning towards cosmetology. There is indeed a huge demand worldwide for cosmetic procedures and naturally, the market for such cosmetology courses has also risen. 

Cosmetology Treatments 

There are many kinds of cosmetology treatments including invasive and noninvasive ones. These special treatments may include Botox, laser therapy, dermal fillers, and peels to name a few. Most cosmetic procedures require minimum downtime and patients are taken on a daycare or outpatient basis, to be released the same day. Cosmetic surgical procedures include rhinoplasty, facelift, breast augmentation, liposuction, etc. To learn the fascinating science of cosmetology, you can enroll in a professional cosmetology training course and get lucrative career opportunities as a certified cosmetologist. 

Choosing a Cosmetology Course Over Other Beauty Courses 

Many industries and institutes seek professionals having valid cosmetology certifications. In the expansive field of cosmetology, you can explore different kinds of exciting jobs in diverse fields. Cosmetology professionals are provided critical skills in the wellness and beauty industry. A cosmetology basic or advanced course can give students the luxury to choose between excellent occupational pursuits. 

Some of the noted fields that offer good positions for cosmetologists 

Educational Schools - As a certified cosmetologist, you can find employment in schools or institutions as a professional instructor to teach the topic. After completing the course and gaining sufficient knowledge and experience, you can become a part of the teaching fraternity and inspire many aspiring students. 

Film & T.V. - If you are star-struck and love to work with celebrities, then you can find great opportunities in the television and movie world. You can work behind the scenes and get celebrity clients who want to try cosmetic treatments. You can even become a stylist or a SFX makeup artist after acquiring additional training and certifications. 

Fashion Industry - There is plenty of work to be found in the fashion industry. Fashion designers often need professional cosmetologists who can enhance or modify the looks of celebrities or models as per the theme of every new event or film. You can thus explore and unlock your creative powers by working in the fashion industry. 

Salons & Spas - Most cosmetology students graduate and start working in the salon industry. As a fresh graduate, you can also start your freelancing career as an independent cosmetologist or open your own beauty spa or salon. The international salon services market has grown over the years and is expected to reach 383 billion dollars by the year 2030. You can also dive into the realm of limitless possibilities and secure a wonderful and competitive job position. 

Cosmetic Companies - You can be a part of a prestigious cosmetic enterprise and help them promote their cosmetic products. You can also become their cosmetology consultant and gain a prominent foothold in the beauty industry. Such jobs can be deeply satisfying and enriching, helping you grow as a budding cosmetologist. 

Affordable Cosmetology Courses 

Cosmetology courses in India are really affordable and rewarding as compared to other countries. You can earn a sizable income as a professional cosmetologist and also explore a wide range of career paths. In the beauty industry, after getting certification, you can take up a professional career of your choice and enjoy its perks. For some of the best cosmetology training courses in India with internships, you can check out the fundamental and advanced cosmetology courses offered by Bodycraft Academy. 

Bodycraft Academy Cosmetology Course Curriculum

Fundamental course in Cosmetology

Methodology

Interesting Lessons

Latest Methods

Cooperative Learning

Assignments

Project Work

Extracurricular Activities

Internships 

Certificate Course in Cosmetology

Methodology

Interesting Lessons

Latest Methods

Cooperative Learning

Assignments

Project Work

Extracurricular Activities

Internships

Certificate Course in Advanced Cosmetology

Methodology

Interesting Lessons

Latest Methods

Cooperative Learning

Assignments

Project Work

Extracurricular Activities

Internships

Best Job Security 

The cosmetology sector is constantly evolving and growing, so there is a constant demand for verified and qualified cosmetologists around the world. When you enroll in a well-reputed beauty academy, you will most likely get a decent job offer as soon as you complete your course. You can then choose to work as a freelancer, part-time employee, or full-time employee as per your choice. You can even open a cosmetology center and become an entrepreneur. 

Flexible and Interesting Career Choice 

Cosmetology students having graduated may want to excel in their careers as estheticians, top makeup artists, cosmetologists, skincare experts, beauty consultants, salon owners or managers, etc. You can have a flexible career plan once you complete your professional cosmetology training, you have the option of working in any type of commercial setting such as salons or educational institutes. You may fulfill your other commitments and also start your journey as a freelance cosmetologist. Cosmetology can be a rewarding and growth-oriented career option if you pursue a full-time career.